


The Rest of Life

by VeronicaRich



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/pseuds/VeronicaRich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every so often, Rimmer tells himself or Lister how he gave McGruder one! But what of the other side of this equation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rest of Life

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It helps to have read _The Last Human_ by Doug Naylor, but it's not absolutely necessary. I feel the story can stand alone; however, you may have questions toward the middle or end if you didn't. Be forewarned. Thanks to metalkatt and kronette for reading. Any lingering weirdness is mine.

The first time she saw him wasn’t a particularly good occasion. The vending machine on her floor, in her quadrant, was completely out of chocolate. No matter how much she smacked the heel of her hand against the side and front, it _would not_ dispense so much as a stray, stale M &M. In a PMS fury, she took the drastic step of bypassing a text to Maintenance and phoning the central office directly, barely keeping a civil tone to the desk monkey taking her complaint. Fortunately, it was another woman.

“Someone will be there at the earliest availability,” the employee smoothly assured her.

“Yes, well – there may not be a machine by then.” Vonnie stuck out her bottom lip and blew a short, hard sigh of air up into her bangs. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, and let’s just say it’s the wrong time for it to cock up _yet again_.”

When she provided her name and rank as requested, there was a pause, then a soft chuckle from the other end. “I believe I understand,” the woman said conspiratorially. “I’ll see what we can do.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Vonnie tucked a towel around her body and was wrapping her dark hair up in another. A tepid shower had done wonders for the on-off-on-oh-my-word hot flashes this time of the month brought. Hearing sustained noise in the corridor, she went to her door and unselfconsciously palmed it open to see the source of the fuss. Someone was on one knee in front of the vending machine, across from a couple of doors down, muttering the tail end of something that was probably about self-important twonks who thought their rank should get them chocolate any time of the day or night.

“C’mon, man. What else’ve you got that’s so pressing?” This from another man, leaning casually over the cart while watching the first. “Refilling cigars at the Officers Club?”

“There’s an order to repairs, Lister. Doing them according to time of report is the fairest way to assure they are completed in order of disrepair.”

“Oh?” The one named Lister reached up into the brim of his cap for a cigarette. “What if something’s been broken for a week and someone just found it, but something else was broken first, but reported first? How’s that fair?”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse,” the other technician barked, straightening. “There. It’s fixed.”

Vonnie took the opportunity to stroll down the hall, glad she’d remembered to slip on her thick-soled slippers before stepping out on the metal grating of the walkway. “Ahh, fixing the chocolate, I see?” She stopped a few feet away, hands on her hips.

Both technicians turned, the taller one standing swiftly and jerkily, the one leaning on the cart smoothly and with a widening grin. “Whatever you wanna call me, sweetheart,” he answered lazily.

She felt an eyebrow lift automatically and was about to answer when the other tech hissed at him. “Lister! These are officers’ suites!” The tall, rangy fellow snapped to attention and gave her a weird little circular salute, his spine ramrod. The one called Lister rolled his eyes, and she decided to have a little fun.

“Yes, they are.” She crossed her arms and stared at Lister expectantly. He stared back, then looked over at the other technician, then straightened from his slouch and managed a halfway decent salute. “Ma’am, yes sir, I mean, ma’am-sir.” It was terribly insincere, but she noticed it made the taller tech smirk a little – not unattractively.

She nearly told them to stand down, but instead, padded around behind the taller tech to regard her old metal nemesis. “Chocolate bar, solid, seventy percent cocoa,” she ordered briskly. Something rattled in the narrow tray, and she leaned over to pick it up, glancing sideways at the taller tech’s back. _Hmm, nice ass_ , she thought. Straightening, she confirmed the bar did indeed look like what she’d ordered; just to be sure, she unwrapped one end and took a small bite, circling back around to where she could see both technicians. “Mmm,” she said for their benefit, nodding gladly, licking her lips as she chewed and swallowed – and felt the calming influence of rich cocoa butter almost immediately. “Brilliant, that.”

The one named Lister smiled a little wolfishly, but it was the way the other tech’s face flushed a deep pink that intrigued her. She tried something else. “Thanks for getting to this right away; I’ve had such a _hard_ day, and nothing hits the spot like a block of good, sweet chocolate.” She directed this at the taller one and watched him blink and swallow slowly, with a tiny nod. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Ferguson,” she fairly purred, referring to Hollister’s maintenance lieutenant.

Ah, the way that made the tall one’s expression light up! Not a bad smiler, this one, when he put effort into it, even if the transition from stoic to pleased did at first remind her of one biting into a lemon. “Thank you, ma- um, Officer,” he answered with only a bit of a squeak.

“What’s your name?”

He glanced to the other man, clearly for help, but Lister was licking the seam of a hand-rolled ciggy and only shrugged, just as clearly amused. He cleared his throat and faced her again, shoulders squared. “Rimmer. Arnold Rim- ah, I mean, Second Technician Arnold Rimmer. First!” he corrected himself. “First Technician. Almost forgot that bit.” He fidgeted a little, but at least the tiny stutter was gone.

The other tech gave her a little nod. “Dave Lister. Not a First Technician.”

She nodded at them both, flashing a smile at the cute one, and turned to head back to quarters. Vonnie had excellent hearing, though.

“Hey Rimmer, you gonna give her a call sometime?” Lister stage-whispered.

“Did you see a bloody name tag?” Rimmer hissed back, just as clearly trying _not_ to be heard.

“Nope. But I saw plenty else there.”

“Don’t be so crass, Lister.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you never are!”

This was still going on when she meandered into her quarters, palmed the door shut, and laughed as she leaned over and shook the towel off her longish dark hair.

*****

Vonnie next saw Arnold Rimmer in one of the cafeterias, a half-eaten tray of food to the left of him on the table while he frowned over an open book. He was reading to himself, his lips moving, as he printed something in a notebook next to the manual. His left palm was pressed to the table up above the book, fingers splayed rigidly.

While Vonnie stood in line for her energy water, he moved it only twice, both times reaching up to tug at his hair tightly while he closed his eyes and screwed up his face as if thinking hard. It was the busy time of early afternoon, and lots of people were moving through the room, but nobody stopped to so much as say hello or tap the guy on the shoulder, which was odd – usually people who ate here knew a few co-workers passing through. She thought about going over to say something, but was distracted by the sound of her name being called by one of her subordinates with a clipboard and questions about the Charon mapping project.

*****

“I heard this place isn’t _so_ bad,” said Mona Beezley, as she led the way into a bar called Atmosphere.

They were on their second night of shore leave on Europa, and so far, she and Vonnie had fended off advances from more than a few of the engineers and mechanics who made up most of the population of the Space Corps base. It wasn’t that either one was opposed to the likelihood of hooking up with men on leave, exactly; but they tried to be careful how they comported themselves. Mona, particularly, had an image to nurture as an up-and-coming civilian junior executive for Jupiter Mining – known to most of the crew only as one of the _Red Dwarf’s_ better-looking pencil-pushers.

Vonnie looked around as they stood in the entrance. Atmosphere was crowded and noisy, with synth-smoke off the electronic cigarettes forming a small cloud midway up on one side of the room … and an easy ratio of men to women, about four-to-one. “Looks like those two bars last night,” she nearly yelled at Mona, just to be heard.

“What? Where’s a fight?” she shouted back, scanning the crowd.

“No, not FIGHT.” She shook her head as she got Mona’s attention again. “Why this place?” Vonnie pointed around and made a questioning face. “Why are we here?”

“Beer?”

“No, HERE. Why are we-”

“For BEER,” Ramona cut her off. “It’s supposed to be _amazing_ here. Honey beer; local bees and everything!”

Their night progressed as almost anyone might anticipate. The testosterone-on-estrogen level wasn’t the worst Vonnie had ever encountered, and brush-offs seemed largely taken in good-natured stride. At one point she turned to find the cherubic, grinning face of Mr. Not-A-First-Technician practically shoved into her by the crowd. “Fancy meeting you again, in a place like this,” he greeted her.

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she sighed heavily. “Hey, I can take a hint,” the guy whose name she couldn’t remember conceded, raising his hands in surrender, which made Vonnie feel a little guilty. “Sorry-” she began.

“Nah, it’s okay,” he said loudly, over the din. “But you can’t blame a bloke for trying, right?”

“So, where’s your friend?” she blurted out. In the dim light, she hoped he couldn’t see her probable blush.

“What friend?” he yelled back.

Vonnie lifted her hand to indicate “tall” but before she could speak, was jostled hard from behind and crashed into the short technician. He grabbed her arms and kept them from traveling too far; she muttered a “thanks” and turned to scowl at the offender. “WATCH IT!” she barked in her best command voice, causing a small circle of people around her to pause and look guiltily her way. “Bloody clumsy bugger,” she said, turning to face … the guy, again. She stared at him a moment.

He must’ve read her mind. “Dave,” he supplied helpfully.

“Sorry. Bad with names.” She shook her head.

“Hey, were you talking about Rimmer?” he asked, but at that moment, Mona appeared and poked her in the side and leaned in to her ear. “You get lost?” she asked. She didn’t even give Vonnie time to answer before spotting Dave. “Did I interrupt something?” she asked, sweetly.

“I was- Wait, wait!” Vonnie craned to look around her. “Did you just leave our table open? In THIS place?”

“You were gone so long that I-” It sank in, and Mona’s face fell. “Aw, smeg! Sorry, Von.”

“Never mind, we’ll find another spot.” She was going to say something else to Dave, but he was already chatting up two other women, his side to her with people between them.

The two stools Mona found for them at the bar were on a corner and pretty good, except for the rather burly fellow parked just around the corner on the next stool from Vonnie. She nodded politely in a way that made it clear she was not interested in the appraising way he was giving her a once-over, then turned to her friend. They talked for a few minutes, then the bartender set something down in her periphery. She did a double-take at the glass. “I didn’t order another yet,” she explained, raising her half-full glass of lager.

“This guy over here paid for it,” he said, gesturing toward Burly.

“Ah.” Vonnie turned with a small wave and mouthed a polite “thanks” before going back to her conversation. But it wasn’t a minute before she felt a tap at her shoulder. “Yes?” she asked, rotating on the stool. “Oh, hey. Thanks for the refill, that’s decent of you,” she said, more formally to him, now standing by her stool.

He gestured back at his stool, next to a now-empty one much closer beside it. “Come join me.”

“No thank you,” she tried, shaking her head and getting the feeling it wouldn’t be enough. She should have wagered salary on it.

He lifted his voice. “I don’t think you heard me.”

“I think everybody heard _that_ ,” Mona butted in, looking around her friend. “It was a nice gesture, but she said she’s not interested.”

“She with you?” he demanded. Not asked or said or even remarked, but demanded.

“Um … yes, we’re having a conversation,” Vonnie interjected, letting a frown settle in for the first time. “Look, I am not interested. If you want, I’ll be glad to pay you for the beer, but-”

“If you’re not fucking, then what’s the problem?”

_Oy, it’s one of those_ , Vonnie thought. “Excuse me?” was what she said aloud. “I think you need to go back to your seat.”

Stupidly, he put a hand on her arm. Not her upper arm, as a gesture of interest, but her forearm – like ownership. Vonnie made a fist and flexed the muscles. “Take your hand off me.”

“Sit by me.”

“You’d better quit touching her,” Mona told him, looking more entertained than worried.

“And you’d better keep your mouth shut, I think.”

“You use that block on your neck to think?” she asked – again, sweetly.

“Mona,” Vonnie tried to quiet her. “Your hand’s still there,” she told Burly, looking straight at him with clear blue eyes.

“Yeah? What’re you going to-” Burly frowned and turned. “What?”

She didn’t know when he’d approached, but Dave was on Burly’s other side. “Excuse me,” he told the larger man, “but she and I got separated,” he said, gesturing to Vonnie. “In the crowd. Could I get around you?”

“No.” It was a booming retort, and Vonnie felt his hand clamp tighter on her forearm. “Get your hand off me,” she warned him, her tone clearly loud enough to get attention of a couple of other patrons otherwise engaged before now.

“I told you-” Burly began, belligerent, turning back to her.

“Hey, buddy, I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Dave said now.

“Thanks, but I said-” Vonnie said to him, but Dave cut her off.

“I’m not trying to score points; I just don’t like oversized smegheads who think they can talk down to anyone who doesn’t want it.” He scowled at Burly, who turned and looked down at him again.

“I’m going to do a lot more than talk to her,” he said, smiling unpleasantly.

Just then, someone smacked into Dave’s back. Vonnie saw him risk a glance behind him, then frown at the auburn-haired technician Vonnie had asked about earlier – Rimmer, that was it. “What, man?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

“We need to go,” Rimmer explained hurriedly, jerking a thumb toward the door. “I may have possibly been misunderstood by someone, and for some reason, he’s kind of upset.”

“What did you do?” Dave demanded. “Who?”

“Robinson.” Rimmer sneaked a look behind him. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks I said; he’s coming this way.”

“Of course it matters, you great gobbing weasel!” A tall, angry man was pushing through the crowd, and even Vonnie could tell his destination. “Oh, smeg,” she heard Rimmer say. “Listy-”

“Hey, you got yourself into it, why don’t you get out of it, for once?” Dave demanded.

Burly, clearly amused, turned back to Vonnie. “Why don’t we-”

_Enough of this._ Vonnie jerked her clamped arm up as violently as she could, surprising him into loosening his hold, and braced her feet on the ring of the stool as she centered herself and brought a right cross around to clock him in the nose. Another boxer might have gone for his jaw or his eye, but she knew if he had trouble breathing, he’d be more unlikely to recover quickly – and a black eye would still leave one able to see.

A few things happened rapidly at that point. A booming “GET BACK HERE, YOU PONCY ARSEHOLE!” cut through the chattering of the bar; Vonnie noticed the angry man after Rimmer and Dave closing in. She saw Dave bracing himself to defend.

For his part, Burly quit spinning too soon and held his hands away from his nose, staring at the blood. “CUNT!” he screamed, truly angry now. Vonnie was standing, ready for a follow-up; the initial punch had pushed him a few steps away, leaving her some workroom on the floor. Burly took a step closer-

“C’MERE, MAGGOT!” presumably-Robinson snarled, lunging at Rimmer, who ducked down. Just as the fist extended was about to reach Dave, he lost his balance and doubled over; Vonnie could barely see that it was because Rimmer had grabbed the front of Dave’s leather jacket and yanked down, hard.

Robinson tripped, presumably over Rimmer and Dave, and his momentum carried him across them … right into Burly’s side, just as the moron was readying a lunge at Vonnie – a truly bad idea had he known she knew how to fight. She didn't just know how to defend – she knew how, and where, to hit. They collapsed into a heap of indignant, angry manflesh, at which point Rimmer popped up and grabbed at the back of his companion’s jacket, half helping him up and half dragging him away from the scene. Dave smacked at him as he got his balance, saying something about “you great coward” loud enough to be heard as they retreated.

Vonnie allowed herself a few seconds of admiring Rimmer’s ass again before she indulged the far greater pleasure of watching the two men on the floor try to disentangle from each other. The Robinson guy was doing a hell of a job elbowing and kneeing Burly in tender areas as he tried to scramble up, and Burly spotted her even as it was clear he would need a few minutes horizontal, to recover. “You stupid smegging bitch of a-” he snarled.

Vonnie leaned over and made a fist in his face. “You talk a lot of shit, but you’re going home alone, aren’t you?” she snapped, employing the same tone her old German grandma used to haul out when she caught Vonnie and her sister wrestling in the house. “I just moved here,” she lied, “and if I ever see you around again, or I see you bothering some other woman, too, I’ll make this look like a primary school dustup. You got that, you stupid bastard? ANSWER ME.”

For the first time, Burly actually looked worried, and she smiled.

*****

Vonnie saw stars nearly every day, but generally speaking, not exploding behind her eyelids. She heard her own pitiful low moan as she sat up on the medibay bed, and angled her forehead to rest on the knees drawn in to her chest. An insistent tap on her shoulder made her look up again, her vision beginning not to sway. “How many fingers am I holding up?” the doctor asked.

“Three.” Her voice sounded tired to her, and she didn’t know why. She’d been conked on the head, not in the mouth or face. “I know my name, I know who the president is, and I know some asshole didn’t properly restrain that rigging bar that fell on the side of my skull.”

She heard the doctor’s laugh. “Just tell me your name and we’ll consider it proven,” she ordered.

“Yvonne McGruder.”

“Well, Lieutenant McGruder, I’ve given you an injection for anti-nausea and swelling, and a little for pain, and your scan looks to be in order. I mean, it was a glancing blow, not direct, but still, you must have one hard head.”

“Mum would agree,” she mumbled, yawning. “Do I have to stay awake, or something? Don’t I have to do that with a concussion, or whatever it is?”

“That’s an old folk tale. You’re fine; in fact, go get some rest for a couple of days for the stress, and you should be able to go back on duty.”

“I’ve got a project to fin-”

She waved a hand at Vonnie. “Do you know how many times a week I hear that? The work always gets done; besides, I’ve put your leave in the system and Hollister’s approved it. Just be careful walking back to your quarters.” The doctor – who still didn’t have a nametag, so far as Vonnie could see – squinted at her, concerned. “Do I need to call somebody to help you back, or do you need an orderly to go with you?”

Vonnie slid off the bed, testing her legs, and was satisfied she didn’t feel sick or too lightheaded. “What’s with the bandage around my head?” she asked, touching it again.

“It’s just holding a gel pack against the bruise to keep it cool. Once you get back home, you can take it off and use a bigger one. I suggest sleeping on your side with it on the pillow, at least tonight. Maybe tomorrow, as well. Wrap it in a towel so you don’t freeze the scalp.”

Happily, there weren’t too many people roaming the corridors, since she didn’t want to have to risk running into well-meaning friends and having to explain twelve times what happened. She took one lift a short ride down to the drive room level; her injury intensified its natural sinking feeling. She tried not to stumble along the hallway, and was mostly okay by the time she reached the Express Lift for the fifteen-minute ride to her bloc of officers’ quarters. She made a beeline for the bench and sank upon it as she heard the doors close. There was no conversation around her, no sound of people at all, so she sighed in contentment.

As the lift began to move, however, she slowly opened her eyes to a voice inquiring, “Are you all right?”

“Hmm?” Vonnie blinked. “I’m fine,” she answered reflexively.

“No offense, ma’am, but … you don’t look fine.” She finally located the voice, and vaguely recalled a name to go with it. “Have you been to the medibay?”

“Just came from. Going home.” She licked her lips, stalling, as she finally remembered his last name: Rimmer. The guy from the bar, and the vending machine, and around the ship every so often. “Thanks for asking.”

Quiet overtook the room again, and she tried to remember his first name. Surely she’d heard it; she vaguely recalled something from their first meeting – something with sounds of “r” and “n.” She sounded out a few names in her head, when he interrupted again. “”Do you need any help?”

“No, I think I’m …” she trailed off, as the longer duration of this lift ride began to have a slightly stronger effect on her light-headedness. “Well, I don’t know, really,” she answered with brutal honesty. “The doctor said I’m fine, I just need to sleep. Which, I’m in danger of doing that before I get back to my bed, honestly.” She shifted on the bench, which was not built for lounging or any similar comfort, and felt herself tilting sideways, so she put out the flat of her hand on it to stop. “Whoops.”

As she stabilized, she saw movement, and then Rimmer was sitting next to her, his hands on her upper arms to help her sit back up. “You don’t want to fall in the floor,” he chided gently, clearing his throat. “I mean, sorry – I’m trying to help. Not well, mind.”

She chuckled at that. “You’re doing okay, Norman.” She’d finally remembered his name.

“Ah … that’s Arnold, ma’am.”

“My apologies.” She was horrible with names on good days, and hoped she’d remember it. “Are you on shift?”

“Not right now, no.”

Vonnie turned to give him a pointed once-over, and asked, “Did you just get off-shift?”

“Not as such, no.”

“Ar-” No, that wasn’t right. Was it? “Then why are you wearing a uniform?”

He looked kind of nervous, if she had to guess an emotion, and licked his lips. His tongue had a nice pink tip, she thought, watching it happily enough. “It’s just what I wear … I suppose.” He seemed unsure some more, then hastily added, “Um, ma’am. Or is it sir?” He furrowed his brow.

“Do I look like a sir to you?”

She watched him flick his greenish eyes over her, then look away studiously. “No, ma’am.”

She leaned sideways against him and sighed. “Do you mind if I sit here? I’m a little tired.” He shifted minutely on the bench, then cleared his throat. “Of course not. Ma’am.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “You can call me Yvonne if you want. You’re starting to sound like one of the bagboys at the market talking to my mum.” He started to apologize, and she brought a finger to her lips, tapping them a few times to be seen. “Shhh,” she said happily, her consciousness just swirly enough to take the edge of pain off.

He helped her up when the lift stopped, and she let him. She could’ve managed alone, but he was pleasant and surprisingly sturdy as he maneuvered her along the corridor. She wasn’t quite sure how he was doing it, though, since he was carrying out some awkward guiding move with one hand on her closest upper arm and the other’s fingertips on her upper back, like she had cooties. “Mr. Rimmer,” she finally managed, not wanting to cock up his name again, “are you homosexual?”

“What?” It was a high-pitched squeak, probably not loud only because he seemed terribly married to protocol, and they _were_ near the doors of several higher-ranking officers’ quarters.

“Calm down, Technician,” she sighed. “I only asked ‘cause you’re avoiding contact with me like smeg, and I figured it might be that I’m a woman. And if you’re not into that, well …” She let it hang there as they approached her door. “Here we are.”

Recognizing her, the sensor made it slide open, and she sort of stumbled inside, forcing the man to take a firmer hold to keep her from falling. “I don’t mind touching women,” he told her, as the door shut. “I _like_ touching you. I mean, women,” he switched, hastily shaking his head. “They just don’t let me do it very much. Women, I mean.”

Vonnie couldn’t stop herself from saying “awww,” as she turned to face him. She had to look up to adjust for the height difference, and gave him her nicest smile. “That doesn’t seem fair,” she murmured, resting her hands on his chest to steady herself. Her mind was still relatively clear, but the drug was making her feel better and better. “How about something to eat? That way, you don’t have to go have dinner alone.”

He looked conflicted, working his jaw, then nodded quickly. She slapped his chest lightly as she pushed away. “Stellar, then. Have a seat.” She left him deciding between the sofa and the overstuffed chair as she went through the kitchen, unwrapping and shoving a storage pizza into the rehydrator, then out the other side toward the bedroom to change out of her uniform.

*****

When Dr. Rodale ordered her in for a checkup a week later, Vonnie had long since recovered and been back on the job. She thought it was stupid, but knew if Hollister caught wind she hadn’t gone, he’d force her to. So, she cut her lunch short and allotted twenty minutes to swing by the medibay before going back to work.

A couple of hours later, her phone pinged with the exam results; she glanced at the subject line and put it away unread, trying to remember to check it once she got back to quarters later. There wasn’t any reason to worry; had she been unfit for work, one of the MPs would’ve been sent around to retrieve her.

It wasn’t until she was cleaning up after leftovers that night that she remembered to check her work intermail again. Dropping onto her sofa, she swung her legs up and stretched out against a couple of throw pillows, flicking the “Read” button.

Less than sixty seconds later, she was punching buttons to get out of the mail program, panicked, and looking for the officer directory phonepad. She finally found Rodale’s cell and punched it up. The woman answered on the fifth ring, sounding efficient until Vonnie identified herself and started babbling. Then, clearly cross at being rung after hours for a non-emergency, Rodale sighed. “Yes, I remember. No, the results are correct; I collated those myself.”

“Unh-uh,” Vonnie countered, shaking her head even though she wasn’t on PicturePhone. “Doctor, I’m on the shot. I had one not that long ago! It was-”

“It was nearly three months ago.” Rodale sounded bored. “I did look it up. You’d have been due for another next week.”

“What do you mean I would have _been_ due?” Spots were starting to dance in Vonnie’s vision as she hovered on the edge of the sofa, barely sitting.

“Well, if you choose to abort, you’d have to wait a few days after anyway,” Rodale pointed out. “And if you carry to term, obviously, you wouldn’t be getting a birth control shot during THAT.” When Vonnie didn’t answer, the doctor’s voice seemed to soften a little. “Look – I know you’re probably angry. The fact is, there’s always a little of a risk of failure near the beginning and the very end of the three-month window for the Prevene shot. It’s low, but it’s there. But you don’t have to keep it,” she added, no doubt intending to be comforting.

Vonnie ground her teeth. Leave it to JMC to be so cheap it wouldn’t even spring for the _good_ hormonal contraception. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she surprised herself by saying. Was she seriously considering keeping this baby?

The doctor was quiet a moment. “You know if you don’t abort, you’ll be transferred off the ship.” JMC had a strict policy of no children actually aboard its mining vessels, as there was too much risk of them losing parents in the line of work. “Unless you adopt out, of course.”

“I’m aware of regulations, Doctor,” Vonnie snapped. Then: “I shouldn’t yell at you; this isn’t your fault.”

“You still have plenty of time to think it over,” Rodale informed her. “Sleep on it. Talk it over with the father.”

As Vonnie clicked off, she doubted seriously she’d be doing _that_. Their little dalliance hadn’t been the stupidest thing she’d ever done, but it ranked up there with one of the more embarrassing.

Whatever impulsiveness had been in her head that night a week ago had made Vonnie head back out into her living area in only an oversized green robe. After a minute of pointless chitchat – during which she’d been pleased to see Rimmer’s eyes wandering below her chin, even as he looked guilty for it – she’d unbelted it, shrugged it off, and crawled on the sofa and over his lap. Once her mouth was on his and she’d assured him it was quite acceptable to touch her naked body, he’d responded with apparent eagerness. Within minutes, she’d been on her back, Rimmer fingering her and sucking at her breasts; he was clumsy, but to his credit, he took instruction and … well, just _tried_ so damn hard, that it made up for what she surmised was a lack of experience. He hadn’t lasted long inside her, but his preparation and her drug-induced lack of inhibition had somehow made up for it, and she supposed she must’ve fallen asleep pretty happily not long after – maybe while he was still apologizing, which she only vaguely recalled on the edges of the memory. She’d awakened a few hours later feeling a little sore and still kind of trippy, but at least not cold or too ill-used – he’d covered her with her robe before leaving, and later she’d found five remaining slices of pizza wrapped inside her refrigerator.

Actually, Vonnie hadn’t felt too bad about the whole thing until two days passed and she’d heard nothing from Rimmer. Heading to dinner with a couple of friends after shift two nights ago, she’d spotted him in the middle of conversation with Todhunter, and while she’d never be able to swear in a court of law he’d actually seen her, she’d seen him look in her direction for a couple of seconds – and do nothing. She could see him from where they sat down; when he was done, he’d left. He’d made no move to come over and talk to her, catch her eye, send her a note, or _anything_ that gave indication they’d even exchanged words.

So, no. There was no way she’d be discussing this in any way, shape, or form with him. Not unless he got his head out of his ass and somehow made contact.

*****

Yvonne McGruder never spoke with Arnold Rimmer again. After a wrenching two weeks of arguing back and forth with herself, as well as with the one friend she trusted aboard the entire ship not to blab, she realized two things: She did want at least one child someday, and at thirty-two, she wasn’t getting younger. She had no idea if she’d ever meet Mr. Long-Term, but even if she did, she had no assurance he’d want children with her. There was no harm in treating the two as independent decisions; she was old enough and had enough in savings, as well as a decent career.

Second, as for her career, she realized she had no particular desire to jet among the stars. It had been fun for a few years when she was younger, but smeg, she could still work on stellar research and cartography without necessarily having to fly around in a spaceship to do it.

So, one day when she was about three months along, Vonnie signed the last transfer form for her personal effects, packed her large carry-on bag, and boarded the shuttle for Miranda. She’d move later, perhaps back to Earth, but for now this was the closest Space Corps outpost where she could disembark before she was due.

For those first couple of months, Vonnie coped with being even more tired and trying to make friends as she settled into her work. She’d had to give up Project Charon for now since she wouldn’t actually be going there, but her commander had assured her that her services would be put to good use interpreting the data they brought back in a couple of years. There was plenty else to do. She thought very little of her dalliance with Rimmer or any warm feelings she’d had toward the smeghead – until the news one afternoon reached the station that the entire _Red Dwarf_ crew had been killed by a nuclear explosion ripping through the ship. There was no possibility of survivors – in fact, there was no possibility of any recovery, since as programmed, Holly had pointed it at the widest gap toward the edge of the solar system and beyond, and started accelerating. Vonnie thought of her friends still aboard, and the officers she’d worked with, and Hollister, and that cheeky Mr. Not-A-First-Technician who’d tried to be chivalrous in a bar fight, and Rodale – poor Rodale! – and … and Arnold Rimmer. She felt an indescribable sadness at the waste of it all, and the loss, and the fact he’d never called her again.

Those aboard the station all took the next day off as a companywide mark of respect for the dead, while Vonnie sat and tried to process the fact that if she hadn’t gotten up the duff, she would be as dead as Rimmer and the rest of them. She wasn’t sure what to do with this realization, or with the sudden fear she was feeling about space travel – something she hadn’t experienced since she was eleven years old.

*****

Forty-two years later, Vonnie marveled yet again at Mike’s willingness to hare off on risky missions. He’d never seemed to share her hesitance about space travel; when she’d boarded the transport to move back to Earth when he was five years old, instead of clinging to her or crying like some of the few other children aboard, Mike had immediately crawled onto his window seat and stared out, agog, until the flight attendant came by to lower the pane so everybody could sleep.

And the questions! He asked questions constantly about space travel, about ships, flying, piloting, ship construction. And about his father. Once he realized most of his friends had a man in the house, he wanted to know why they didn’t. She’d told him half the truth – that his father had died aboard a mining ship before he was born. The rest, she made up. She wasn’t worried about contradiction, since she’d never made any attempt to notify Rimmer’s family about Michael’s existence.

She’d felt sorry for Mike, having to hold him back a grade when he was eight because of a learning disability – it was one of the few times she remembered him throwing a tantrum, because he’d be behind his friends in school. “But I CAN catch up!” he’d yelled, officious and angry.

“Yes,” Vonnie had tried to comfort him, without condescending or babying; the kid needed to know the real world didn’t work like home. “You can. And you will. By re-taking third grade.” It had been a turbulent few weeks as they battled over tutors and study time. Finally, she’d threatened that if he didn’t cooperate and try to work with his learning problems, he wouldn’t ever get to even think of joining the Space Corps or being an officer … like his father.

Sometimes, through the years, she felt pangs of guilt anytime she’d invoked the mythical version of Arnold Rimmer to motivate her son. But it worked, and he seemed happy – if overly serious much of the time – and she marveled at his level of accomplishment. When he made test pilot at the age of twenty, she wondered where he’d gotten _that_ particular talent; it wasn’t from her side of the gene pool, not like his boxing trophies. A little record-trawling with her mid-level clearance had informed her one of Rimmer’s older brothers had spent a short stint as a test pilot right out of the academy. (The same clearance and a long-overdue favor from a colleague had made minor alterations to Rimmer’s record, just in case Mike ever took it upon himself to go looking someday.)

When Mike was put on the President’s guard detail years later – as only the most elite marines could ever hope – Vonnie had been impressed, but no longer surprised by him.

And now he was telling her he would be leaving for a classified mission into deep space, so secret that even she as executive director of Space Corps Stellar Cartography didn’t know about it, and when she asked when he might return, he began shifting uncomfortably and studying the salt shaker, and lying about an amorphous “five to seven years.” Vonnie knew it wasn’t malicious; she’d long suspected Mike might eventually be lured into going on one of the new rumored deep-space, long-range missions. And when he asked, a touch anxiously, if she would be all right, a small part of Vonnie was tempted to protest that she mightn’t be able to take care of herself so well at almost seventy; but he never would have believed it and she couldn’t have sold it. Another small part was tempted to point out Martin might up and leave her – but who was she kidding. They’d been married over twenty years and the old guy still adored her. He even liked her kid.

She leaned forward. “Will _you_ be all right, Michael?”

“Well, certainly.” He blinked, and oversized nostrils flared slightly in offended manly protest before his angular features relaxed into a small smile she still remembered. “Piece of cake, Mom.”

As she hugged him and watched him stride toward his transport for the last time, she was tempted to call him back, to sit him down and confess her lie all these years. His father hadn’t been a hero, or even particularly admirable. He was average. Didn’t a grown man deserve to know that, especially when the image drove his identity as much as it had Mike’s for so long? He ought to know he’d long since surpassed the guy whose coattails he kept chasing.

A better mother, perhaps, would have done as much. But when he looked back, Vonnie only blew him a kiss and waved. She’d never pretended to be a hero, either. What did it matter after all these years? Commander M.R. McGruder would never find out the difference.

People didn’t come back from the dead, after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fatherhood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087350) by [Janamelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janamelie/pseuds/Janamelie)




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